


A Little Discipline

by thecarlysutra



Series: Discipline [1]
Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Discipline, M/M, Power Imbalance, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:42:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/pseuds/thecarlysutra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY: “You’re a great pilot,” Jester said. “You could be the best. You just need a little discipline.”<br/>AUTHOR’S NOTES: Written for the <a href="http://top-gun-kink.livejournal.com/">Top Gun Kink Meme</a> prompts, “Iceman is distracted, maybe guilty over the fact that it was his jetwash that Mav and Goose fell prey to. He flies recklessly, his head's not in the game. Jester, angry and not a little scared by this uncharacteristic lapse, calls him in to reprimand him and ends up bending him over his desk." and "Iceman needs a spanking. I don't care who gives it to him -- Maverick, Slider, hell, even Viper. I'd prefer if it was against his will, or if he agreed under duress/blackmail/whatever."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Discipline

  
“Kazansky!”

Iceman stopped in his tracks, his body immediately going attention-rigid. Jester was glaring at him from the other end of the tarmac, hands on his hips. When he was sure he had Ice’s attention, Jester brought a hand up and quirked his index finger, the international sign for “get your ass over here right now.”

Ice’s shoulders sagged. Behind him, Slider whistled, low and ominous. “Someone’s gettin’ called to the principal’s office. That’s not like you, teacher’s pet; what’d you do?”

Ice shrugged him off, and followed Jester off the tarmac and to his office. Jester waited, standing, behind his desk until Ice was inside.

“Close the door. Draw the blinds.”

Ice closed the door, and then he closed the blinds, a sinking feeling building in his stomach as he shut them in alone. Men were berated in public all the time; if Jester wanted privacy, Ice must really be in trouble.

Ice finished with the blinds, and went to stand at attention before Jester’s desk. By this time, Jester had settled back in his desk chair, and was mulling over a file. Ice had a pilot’s vision, and could make out the file’s label: _Kazansky, Thomas; call sign: Iceman_. His personnel file. The nervous feeling in his stomach fluttered.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

Jester looked up at Ice over the file. Slowly, he lowered the papers to the desk.

“You weren’t in class today, Lieutenant.”

Ice studied Jester’s face a moment, hoping this was some kind of joke. But Jester’s gaze was level, unpitying, and dead serious.

“Respectfully, sir, yes, I was.”

“Your ass was in the chair,” Jester said. “But you weren’t there. Where’s your head at, boy?”

Ice opened his mouth to speak, but Jester bulldozed right over him.

“And your flying today. Were you even in the plane? You know, son, jets don’t have autopilots. You wanna keep flying like that, you better find yourself a job at a commercial airline, shuttling fat tourists to Reno.”

Ice felt himself flush. “Yes, sir.”

Jester smacked his hands down on the desk, hard. The desk rattled, and Ice jumped.

“Don’t ‘yes, sir’ me, boy. I expect that pablum shit from enlisted men, but you’re a goddamn officer—you could be Top Gun, and I expect a real answer from you.”

“I just had an off day, sir,” Ice said.

“‘Off day,’ my ass. You know I can ground you, son? We have just lost the first man in the history of TOPGUN, and I will be goddamned if I let another dangerous pilot in the air. Now you can either explain yourself, or you can pack your bags to go home.”

Ice felt a muscle in his jaw twitch, but beyond that he maintained the icy façade that had given him his call sign.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw, sir,” he said. “That was my fault.”

Jester’s expression relaxed a little; he looked more curious than angry. “The brass disagrees with you, Lieutenant.” Ice opened his mouth to respond, but Jester spoke over him again. “You think you know better than the brass, son?”

Ice lowered his eyes. “No, sir.”

“Then what’s the goddamn problem?”

Ice shook his head. “No problem, sir.”

Jester ground his teeth. “I warned you about lying to me, Lieutenant. I will not warn you again. Also, you will look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

Ice’s jaw twitched again, but he brought his eyes up.

“Yes, sir. It’s just that—it’s just that I feel responsible, sir.”

“And I’m telling you that you’re not,” Jester replied smoothly. “I’m your superior officer—you should put your trust in me.”

“I—I do, sir.”

“I warned you about lying to me. You only trust yourself.” Jester stood, came around to the front of the desk. He stood just inches from Ice, staring him down. “But lately, that trust has been wavering. And now we’re all in trouble.”

“Yes, sir,” Ice said softly.

“I’ve been reading your file,” Jester said. “You were raised without a father?”

Ice felt his cheeks heat. “Respectfully, sir, that is none of your business.”

“I think it is. Now, is that correct, or isn’t it? You didn’t know your father growing up?”

“I still don’t know him. He left my mother when I was a toddler, and I’ve only seen him a handful of times in my life.”

“But your mother didn’t raise you, either. Why not?”

“She was young. My grandmother raised me.”

Jester nodded slowly. “A grandmother raising a young boy . . . that must have been difficult. Was it hard for her to discipline you?”

Ice felt his cheeks go hotter, and he fought the urge to drop his eyes again. “She did fine.”

Ice was very aware of Jester’s eyes on him, laser sharp, cutting through him.

“How were you disciplined?” Jester asked. His gaze didn’t flicker at all. “Did she ground you?”

“That’s how the Navy disciplines me,” Ice said before he could help himself.

Jester laughed, but the amusement in his eyes was short-lived; soon it was back to the laser gaze. “Tell me how she punished you, Tom.”

“She was old-fashioned,” Ice managed.

“You mean she spanked you.”

Ice couldn’t help it; he dropped his eyes again.

“Lieutenant Kazansky,” Jester said sharply.

Ice raised his eyes. He straightened his spine. “Yes, sir.”

Jester nodded. “All right. Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Ice’s brow creased. “I’m sorry, sir?”

Ice had gotten big early, and he worked hard. He was used to not having to worry about handling himself physically. He was, therefore, taken completely by surprise when, in one smooth move, Jester had taken him by the arm and bent him over his desk. The old man was stronger than he looked, Ice guessed. And faster. Jester rubbed the palm of his hand over the seat of Ice’s flight suit, and Ice choked out a small moan as he realized what Jester had meant. Jester brought his hand back, and then brought it down, palm flat, across Ice’s ass. Hard. The air left Ice’s lungs, and the force pushed him forward over Jester’s desk, the edge of it biting into his lower abdomen. Jester smacked him again, several hard hits to Ice’s ass and thighs. The flight suit muted the sensation, but not enough; Ice could feel his skin starting to heat, could feel the pain start to settle deep in the muscle, beyond the initial sting of each slap.

Jester paused, rubbing the heel of his palm over Ice’s ass.

“You need to learn that you don’t always know what’s best,” he said. “You need to learn to trust others.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jester stepped back, giving Ice a chance to catch his breath. He hoped this meant it was over; he could already feel his ass throbbing quietly in response to the smacks he’d been given.

There was a long silence; Ice waited. Then Jester said, in his hard, no nonsense voice, “Stand up.”

Ice stood, but didn’t turn; he stood facing the wall behind Jester’s desk. He could hear Jester moving behind him, could feel his presence, the large mass of him.

“I want you to take off your flight suit, and bend back over the desk.”

So it wasn’t over. Ice did as he was told, stripping off his flight suit and dumping it on the floor by his feet. He wore his shirt, still, and his boots, and a pair of white briefs. He didn’t feel exposed, really, until he bent over Jester’s desk again, the fabric of his briefs stretching taut over his ass.

Jester came up behind him, rested his hand for a moment on Ice’s ass. The man’s rough hand tickled the sensitive, exposed skin, what the underwear didn’t cover. Jester ran his hand down over the back of Ice’s thigh and Ice gasped, suddenly feeling very exposed.

“You’re a great pilot,” Jester said. “You could be the best. You just need a little discipline.”

Jester’s hand left Ice’s backside, and Ice flinched, knowing that it was drawing back to deliver another burning slap. After a moment, it did, and Ice rocked against Jester’s desk with the force.

“Yes, sir,” Ice said breathlessly.

Jester hit him again, and Ice thought about how loud it was, the sound echoing off the empty corners of Jester’s office. He wondered if they’d be heard, then thought, a grim smile quirking up the corner of his mouth, that Jester probably did this all the time.

Jester landed a particularly nasty slap to Ice’s upper thigh, and the smile slid right off Ice’s face. The spot throbbed, and he bowed his head, sucking in a harsh breath through his teeth. Jester tested the spot with the pads of his fingers, awakening a terrible ache. Ice moaned and pressed himself into the desk until there was no space left, trying to pull away from the source of the pain. Jester stopped probing with his fingers and smacked the spot twice in quick succession. Pain surged through Ice’s body, and he keened.

Jester rubbed the same spot with his palm, and Ice relaxed some, letting the muscles in his thighs relax, letting the desk take some of his weight. It did help ease the pain, some.

Jester’s heavy body covered Ice’s back, his rough voice close to Ice’s ear.

“We’re learning, aren’t we?”

Ice nodded vehemently, over and over again. Once he got started, he couldn’t seem to stop.

“Yes, sir. Yes, sir.”

Jester patted his thigh. “Good boy.”

Jester drew back, and Ice steadied himself, readied himself for the next blow. Instead, Jester slipped his fingers under the waistband of Ice’s briefs, pulled them down over the burning, sore flesh and down past his knees. Jester’s rough hand palmed Ice’s naked backside for a moment, then drew back. He started spanking Ice again, delivering hard blows in random patterns all over both cheeks. He began speaking, his voice taking on the even cadence of the spanking.

“I know your type, Kazansky. I’ve flown with men like you for years. You’re good—really good, the best—but you’re tight-wound. If you can’t learn to let go, to trust something outside yourself, you’ll self-destruct.”

Ice’s ass felt like it was on fire. Somehow, the pain and the heat melded together, becoming something else altogether, something worse than either thing alone. He felt like his flesh was being permanently altered; it felt heavier, foreign. The blows kept coming, each one lighting up his flesh with pain. Moans began to escape his lips with each new strike, and he felt his cheeks heating, his thighs shaking. He felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes, and he wanted to cry—he remembered being spanked as a child, and he’d always felt better after he cried—but, despite the pain and the humiliation, he wouldn’t give Jester the pleasure of seeing him with tears streaked down his face.

“I know this hurts, boy, but doesn’t it feel good to have someone giving you some discipline? I bet your grandma spanked you all the time, didn’t she? I bet you were such a good boy when she gave you a good spanking.”

The blows stopped, and Ice felt his breath return, slowly. Then Jester landed a vicious slap to his seat; it sent Ice rocking over the desk, the breath pushed out of him again.

“I asked you a question, Lieutenant,” Jester said darkly.

And Ice did cry then, not realizing he was doing so until he felt the wet warmth on his cheeks. He lowered his face, hoping Jester wouldn’t see, and tried to extinguish it quietly, without too much shaking or whimpering.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered.

“‘Yes, sir’ what?”

Despite how hard he was trying to swallow it, Ice only cried harder, his shoulders shaking with it. There was a tremor in his voice, but his superior officer had asked him a question.

“Yes, sir, she spanked me all the time.”

Jester smacked him again, though not so hard as last time. “And?”

“Yes, sir, I . . . I hated it, but I always felt better afterwards.”

Jester smacked him again. “And?”

“ _Ohhhhh_ ,” Ice moaned. His mouth was coated with salt from his tears. “Oh, I—and . . . and yes, sir, it feels good to let someone else handle my discipline for a while.”

Viper stepped forward, until the rough material of his fatigues was pressed against Ice’s raw ass. And then Viper touched him so gently, petting Ice’s short, damp hair back, the way his grandmother used to when he woke in the night from a bad dream.

“And the next time you need discipline?” Jester asked, his voice quiet, almost soft. “What will you do? Will you sleepwalk through class? Will you fuck around in a plane?”

“No—no, sir, I’ll—I’ll come to you.”

Jester’s weight left Ice’s body, and Ice tensed, waiting for the spanking to begin again.

“Stand up,” Jester said. “Turn around to face me.”

Ice did as he was told, wiping hurriedly at his face, realizing too late that he was more concerned with hiding his tears than his naked penis. Jester studied his body for a moment, then looked him in the face. Ice wondered how obvious it was that he’d been crying, and squirmed a little.

“And when you come to me,” Jester asked silkily, “what will happen?”

Ice’s eyes lowered on reflex, but then the realization that he’d be spanked again if he broke that rule was enough for him to look Jester in the eye.

“You’ll spank me, sir,” Ice said.

“And you’ll thank me, won’t you? Because it’s for your own good.”

“Yes, sir.” The words stuck in his throat, and he almost choked getting them out, but finally they came. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome, Lieutenant. You may get dressed, now.”

Ice dressed quickly, the fabric raking over his raw flesh. Then he stood before Jester, the man’s unpitying gaze on him. After an eternity of waiting, Jester stepped forward, towards Ice. He cupped Ice’s face in his hand, slowly drew the pad of his thumb across Ice’s cheek. It took Ice a moment to realize what he was doing: wiping the tears off his face.

“You feel better now, don’t you, Lieutenant?” Jester asked, his voice almost soft again.

“Yes, sir.”

“You can come back anytime.” Jester withdrew his hand, gave Ice one last look. Then all the softness went out of his face, and the softness went out of his voice. He stood attention-straight. “Dismissed.”

Ice left, walking gingerly down the halls of TOPGUN. He was almost outside when he realized, with terrible clarity, that he would, indeed, be back to see Jester.  



End file.
